"It means, Mrs. Stuart, that you must not sew, read, write, or
undertake any form of application where the eyes are a factor."
She could not believe her ears. "I am a clerk in a law-office. My
employment is stenography and type-writing," she said, tentatively.
He nodded. Evidently he had been informed. "It will be impossible for
you to continue it."
"But I must. I must do my work. My children are dependent on it."
Her tone suggested that there could be no answer to such a plea.
"You cannot. If you do, you will become blind. I am very sorry for
you."
The truth was out. She lay dumfounded. "Blind? Blind?" she echoed.
"But there is not the least danger of your becoming blind if you obey
my instructions. You will be entirely cured, as I have said."
There was a painful silence. Her sentence was too appalling to grasp.
There must be some escape from it. "Six months? Half a year?"
"Knowing your necessities, I have given you the shortest period that I
dared consistent with perfect recovery. You will have to wear colored
glasses at first," he continued, seeking a business-like basis, "and
accustom yourself to do without them by degrees. I will bring them
to-morrow."
She leaned back on her pillow bewildered. The trickling of a tear into
her mouth reminded her that she could not afford to cry, though but for
the presence of the doctors she knew that she would have burst into
sobs. Her plight demanded thought, not sorrow. But what could she do?
What, indeed? Yet, even as she asked herself the dreadful question,
she began to nerve herself not only against breaking down at the
moment, but against the threat of the future. She would keep a stiff
upper lip in the teeth of all the odds, and be able to manage somehow.
As thus she reasoned, swallowing the salt of her single moment of
weakness, she heard Dr. Baldwin saying:
"You have had a very fortunate escape, all things considered. It might
have been much worse. You might have disfigured yourself permanently,
which for you," he added with a gallant bow, "would have been a serious
matter, indeed. As it is, you will be able to do everything as
formerly in another week, except use your eyes. Your friends will look
after you, Mrs. Stuart, and six months will pass much more quickly than
you expect."
"I don't suppose they'll let me starve," she found herself saying,
though the notion of a return to alms almost strangled her effort at
buoyancy, so that the sprightliness of her tone competed with the water
in her eyes, as the sun struggles with the rain-pour just before it
clears up. But she remembered that the room was dark, and that they
could not see her tears. "Wasn't I a fool to jump off that car?"
"You were unlucky, that's all. You mustn't be too hard on yourself.
It is the privilege of the young to jump, and you will jump again." It
was Dr. Dale who spoke. His enunciation imparted a cleansing value to
his note of sympathy, just as it had ruthlessly epitomized her tragedy
a few minutes before.
"But I am not young; that is the folly of it," she protested.
The oculist smiled. "Excuse me if I differ with you," said he. "You
have the best years of your life before you."
They left her under the spell of this assertion, which lingered in her
mind on account of its absurdity, until in sheer self-defence she said
to herself under her breath that she was only thirty-one. The best
years of her life! And yet he knew that she was to be deprived during
half of one of them of the joy of seeing and the source of her
livelihood. What could he mean?
In taking his departure, Dr. Baldwin, by way of showing his
friendliness, had volunteered to write to her employer. "I know Mr.
Perry," he said, "and I will explain to him the situation. Perhaps he
will be able to keep your place for you."
Constance had interposed no objection. It would obviate the necessity
of an elaborate explanation on her part, and would, moreover, be a
guaranty of her later usefulness. The future would take care of
itself; it was the present which stared her in the face and demanded an
immediate answer.
One solution of her quandary was offered to her a few days later. Dr.
Baldwin had given her permission to get up and resume her ordinary
household duties as soon as her glasses arrived, which proved to be the
next morning, as the oculist had promised. Consequently, she dressed
herself and sat with her children in the parlor that afternoon, and on
the following day rose, bent on facing the new problem of existence
with a clear brain and resigned spirit. If Mr. Perry would save her
place for her, so much the better. But obviously there was nothing for
her to do in the office until she was cured. She must, either through
her own energies or the advice of others, discover some employment
compatible with her infirmity. She might have to accept help at first,
for the money she had on hand would be needed to pay the bills of the
two physicians, which would necessarily be considerable; but with the
aid of her friends she would surely be able to find some handiwork
which would yield her enough to keep her treasures well fed and
decently clothed. Humiliating as it would be to have recourse to
others, it was clearly her duty to inform her friends of her
predicament, and invite their counsel. They would only thank her, she
knew, and she certainly was fortunate in having three persons, to whom
she felt at liberty to apply, so pleasantly interested in her welfare
as her employer, Mrs. Wilson, and the Reverend George Prentiss. Mr.
Perry was to be made aware of what had befallen her, without further
action on her part; but she would write to the two others, and soon,
for the thought was harassing her that her employer, in a spirit of
benevolence, might try to invent duties for her at the office, and give
her some sinecure in order that she might retain her salary. This
would be galling to her self-respect, and was not to be entertained for
a moment. As the possibility of it grew upon her she became quite
agitated; so much so that in the hope of heading off any such attempt
by him, she dictated to her daughter, that afternoon, letters to Mrs.
Wilson and the clergyman, informing them briefly what had occurred.
Just after the little girl had returned from putting these in the
letter-box, and Constance was musing over a cup of tea, a messenger
with a note arrived. It was from Gordon Perry, and read by Henrietta
it ran as follows: Might he not call that evening? He had the doctor's
permission to do so; and she was to send a simple "Yes" or "No" by the
bearer. Now for it, she thought; he was coming to overwhelm her with
his cunning schemes for continuing her salary. Her first impulse was
to protect herself by delay; to ask him to wait a day or two until she
felt stronger. But this would be a subterfuge, and, excepting that she
dreaded his philanthropy, she yearned to see him. He would put her in
touch with the world again, from which she had been shut off too long.
"No" trembled on her lips, but the fear of hurting his feelings
occurred to her in the nick of time as a counterbalance to her dread of
being pauperized by him, and her natural inclinations found utterance.
"Tell Mr. Perry, yes," she answered, and her spirits rose from that
moment, though she resolved to be as firm as a rock on the threatened
issue. She ascribed his coming in the evening rather than the
afternoon to his being busy at the office, and as she put the children
to bed she reflected that it would be pleasant to have an uninterrupted
visit. She made her toilette as best she could with Mrs. Harrity's
aid, and she inwardly rejoiced again that she had not broken her nose.
Gordon arrived about half-past eight. The cheer which his manner
expressed did not detract from its sympathy. It seemed to say that he
recognized and deplored her misfortune, but took for granted her
preference to face it smilingly, and not to waste time in superfluous
lamentation. At the same time, she could not but notice his eager
solicitude and the ardor of his bearing, which was slightly
disconcerting. Yet he made her tell him the details of the accident,
listening with the ear of a lawyer. At the close his brow clouded
slightly as though her story failed to coincide with his prepossessions.
"You see I haven't any case, have I?" she said, divining what was
passing in his mind. She cherished a half hope that his cleverness
might still extract a just cause of action from her delinquency.
"Not on your evidence."
"So I supposed. Those are the real facts. I jumped before the car
stopped, though the conductor warned me, and I heard the bell."
"That settles it; contributory negligence. But the trained nurse who
was with you tells a different story."
"Loretta has been to see you?"
"Yes. She came ostensibly for her pay night before last. But she
seemed very anxious to testify in court in your favor. She says the
conductor wasn't looking at first, and that he pushed you off the car
just as you were jumping."
Constance shook her head. "She is entirely mistaken as to the last
part."
"There is nothing to be said. It struck me that Miss Davis, unlike
most women, enjoyed the prospect of being a witness. It was a great
event to her, and she would be able to do you a good turn." He sat for
a moment pondering this diagnosis, then with a start, as though he had
been surprised in a trivial occupation, exclaimed:
"But what does it matter whether you can get paltry damages or not? I
did not come here to consider that. I came to talk with you about your
future."
He spoke the last words with a tender cadence which was partly lost on
Constance, for she sprang to the conclusion that the moment for her to
display firmness had arrived, and that he was about to broach a scheme
for retaining her in his employment.
"I must find some other occupation for the next six months, of course.
I am forbidden to use my eyes for any purpose. I have written to Mrs.
Wilson and my rector, thinking they may know of some opening or vacancy
where I could work with my hands or do errands until my eyes are well."
Then noticing the curious smile with which he received this rather
impetuous announcement, and apprehensive lest he might be hurt by her
avowed reliance on others, she added: "And you, too, must be on the
lookout for me. You may hear of something which would suit me."
"As for that, do you suppose that because your service to me is
interrupted I would not stand in the breach? That I would not insist
on continuing your salary until you were able to return to your post?"
"I knew it would be just like you to wish to," she said, quickly, "but
I could not possibly allow it. That's why I wrote to Mrs. Wilson and
Mr. Prentiss," she added, not averse to having him know the real reason
now that it could serve her as a shield.
Her naïve admission was evidently an agreeable piece of intelligence.
"I took for granted that your salary would continue. That was a matter
I did not have in mind in the least."
"It can't, I assure you."